


Checkmate

by WaywardLass



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: As light on the plot as it is on the pants, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, House of Repose, Josephine's Side Quest, Romance, Smut, Uptight Inquisitor, mysterious lover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9155761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLass/pseuds/WaywardLass
Summary: A frustrated Inquisitor everyone treats like a pretty figurehead? Check. A mysterious count whose knowledge of business pertaining to the House of Repose is suspicious? Check.Attraction surfaces at some very inconvenient times.  Let the games begin...





	1. Such a Pretty Face, Such a Clever Plot

_Damned Royans!_

Evelyn walked through the city in a severe sulk. Clad in her hooded cape, she was quite certain no one recognized her as she wove through the modest crowd. Her anonymity was integral to her mission right then and it was no small coup that she had succeeded in slipping away from her watchers that morning.

She was pissed at all of them: Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, Cassandra…

A portly man walked in front of her at a leisurely pace, blocking her way.

 _And you, sir! I am pissed at you, as well,_ she decided huffily.

_How much is enough? What more do they need? It's ridiculous: I do not remember this much fretting over me when I attempted to close the rift! I suppose I am expendable only when THEY decide I can be deployed._

Granted, the mark was a mysterious thing, with a power that appeared to control her more than she controlled it, but it wasn't as if she was completely helpless.

In fact, she knew her fighting skills had improved significantly.

It was true that she was always surrounded by her companions anytime she went off on her missions and expeditions, but up until the previous day she had always believed that the reason behind such solicitousness had more to do with camaraderie, affection even, and being part of a team. In essence: something larger. In combat, she'd always believed her and her companions' skills complementary: Cassandra often led the charge and engaged their foes headfirst. Evelyn followed her closely, her sword drawn, ready to strike. Nearby, Varric, Dorian, Sera, or Vivienne would provide them with cover—shooting or casting through mobs attacking them. When Bull or Blackwall joined them, the imposing men always flanked her.

So the realization that she was thought of as a liability, as someone to be protected as if she were some dotty dowager, felt like an insurmountable betrayal. She hadn't been able to even look at her advisors back at the War Table in their headquarters in Val Royeaux, she was so hurt and offended by them.

"Palais Boisvert," she muttered to herself, glancing around the square in the hazy and stifling morning. Merchants rested, leaning lazily against the walls of the large colorful buildings, attempting to stay out of the scorching sun. She approached a stall stacked with an assortment of large, exotic fruit.

"May I interest you in some fresh imported Antivan delicacies?" the vendor asked, languidly stepping out of her shaded shelter beneath a building's balcony to greet her.

"Is this the _arrondissement_ where all the river estates are?" Evelyn wondered, squinting at the woman in the sun's glare.

"Ah, you are not well acquainted with our city?" the woman asked curiously. Evelyn saw she was taking notice of her long, hooded cloak in that heat.

"I'm looking for Palais Boisvert," she stated as nonchalantly as she could.

 _To hell with them all!_ she thought angrily _._ She was going to meet the blasted Comte on her own and prove to all those who doubted her skill and acumen what she was really capable of.

In her mind's eye, she imagined herself returning, triumphant, the mystery of who had killed Josephine's couriers resolved. Everyone would be humbled and ashamed of mistrusting her abilities.

And she was going to do it without their aid.

"I am not sure which palais that is," the woman mused, glancing at a narrow passage leading towards the riverfront. "Perhaps the guards stationed there can assist you."

"Thank you." Evelyn nodded appreciatively. The woman nodded back while casting a meaningful glance towards her wares.

"Would you like to purchase some fruit now?" the vendor insisted.

Evelyn looked up at her confusedly.

"No…I haven't the time—"

"Delicious fruit," the vendor persisted, this time somewhat crossly.

"I had a good breakfast. I'm not interested," Evelyn attempted to refuse more forcefully.

"Delicious fruit goes well with information requested…and _received_ ," the vendor declared loudly in a definitively unfriendly manner as two street urchins emerged from the cool shadows of the building's archway with a menacing glare in their young eyes.

* * *

Evelyn walked towards the guards posted at the riverfront promenade balancing a large Antivan drupe between her arm and hip. She would have purchased something smaller, but very inconveniently the vendor just so happened not to be able to make any change. Under the definitively unfriendly scrutiny of the street urchins, Evelyn hadn't been inclined to insist upon it, either.

"Is Palais Boisvert this way?" she asked, adjusting her grip around the cumbersome fruit.

"What? You making a delivery?" the guard said in an amused tone taking in the drupe.

"I asked first." She offered the man a flat grin.

"It is the last _palais_ at the end of the row, overlooking the river," he informed her, waving towards a long, broad street coursing down along the riverbank. In the distance, small anchored boats lingered, bobbing in the tame waves as a breeze ruffled the surface of the shimmering water. "But I can tell you right now…sentinels don't like people coming up to the gates and peddling their wares."

 _I'm the Inquisitor_ , _not some fruit peddler_! she thought with growing annoyance.

It would have been so much easier to go about that business with Cassandra leading the way and her usual cortege of companions, she realized regretfully.

"I will take my chances. Besides, I have it on good word: my drupes are very succulent and delicious!" she declared haughtily.

The guards' eyes simultaneously dropped briefly to her modest cleavage. One of them couldn't help snickering at the unintended double entendre.

"I suggest you work on that sales pitch," the other sighed, turning back to face the river.

* * *

Evelyn turned the corner and began walking towards the last estate.

Josephine's inadvertent insulting comment the previous day about her desire to help her sort out that whole trade document confusion had stung her deeply. They had been meeting around the war table at their headquarters in Val Royeaux.

"Thank you, Inquisitor, but the matter will have to wait for now: Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric are busy on an away mission. We can look into it once they return."

"Oh? What mission are they on? Why wasn't I informed…?"

"Nothing noteworthy. They're just off, quelling a small uprising of outlaws posing as Chevaliers. They'll be back in no time, Your Worship."

"Yes, but…Why wasn't I told? I would have liked to go. And there may be more to these Chevaliers than we sus—"

"Of course. But do not worry. I am sure Cassandra is well aware of any implications."

Evelyn had sniffed, slightly peeved.

"Well, then…Perhaps, in the meantime, I could meet with this Comte and see what information he has to share with us!"

"Ah! Yes. That would be of the essence. Once the others return, we can—"

"Why? Why do we have to wait for the others? I said I would handle it."

"The Comte has information about some very shady dealings. I do not know if I would ask you to become involved in such an affair."

"I am involved in much shadier affairs, as you put it, Josephine!"

"No, absolutely. You are right, of course…But not without the others, yes?"

Evelyn had stared at her, crestfallen.

"Why are you insisting upon a retinue to escort me?"

Josephine began to fidget and Leliana had suddenly grown fascinated by the map of Southern Thedas over the table.

"It is just…What if it is an ambush? We cannot let you go without backup."

"I am going into Val Royeaux to talk to a count who has volunteered some information. I am going to be sipping cordials and exchanging pleasantries. What do I need a security detail for? To wipe dribble off my chin?" she asked in a strained manner, growing incensed.

"We are just being… cautious. You are precious to us! To our cause! We will not put you inadvertently in harm's way, that is all!" The ambassador had become flustered.

Leliana gave Josephine a withering glare at her use of "we."

"I can more than defend myself!" Evelyn protested, raising her splayed palm at them. " Have you forgotten? I close rifts! I fight Venatori! I battle Red Templars! I have faced off against Corypheus before and I will do so again!" she cried.

Leliana pursed her lips before shaking her head at Josephine.

"You should have let me handle this matter my way," she muttered.

Evelyn glared at Leliana.

"Oh, you are in on this, as well?"

"Inquisitor, this is nothing more than standard protocol. It's a reasonable precaution. You have the mark, of course, and that is a formidable weapon, and you have made dramatic improvements in combat…But, as Josephine said, allowing you to go on a mission unaccompanied is out of the question."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. She was not above pulling rank.

"Are you giving _me_ an order?"

Both Leliana and Josephine shifted uncomfortably.

"I am merely doing my duty as your Spymaster…and also, as your security officer while Cassandra is away."

"Did I understand what you are saying? You do not think I am competent enough to defend myself from an attack." She looked deadly serious.

"We are saying that it would be foolish to take such an unnecessary risk," Josephine attempted to mollify her.

"And what if I were to say that I was going regardless?" she challenged.

The women exchanged bewildered glances.

"Well, if you are absolutely determined…I suppose…Is Cullen available? I can cancel my diplomatic meeting with the representatives from the Marches and postpone it to the following week…" Josephine nervously began to calculate.

"No. _Without_ an armed escort," Evelyn added dryly.

Leliana and Josephine erupted in a flurry of objections.

Evelyn, in the meantime, was seething with indignation. She had never felt so ridiculed, so belittled in all her life. She had worked so hard in her training, hauling and hefting that terribly large and clunky sword everywhere and learning how to wield it effectively. She had learned to fight with grit—and not just rely on the mark to tear the battlefield in smaller rifts that paralyzed and shocked her foes. She had learned how to defend herself, how to initiate attacks, and, according to her battle master, had very tidy footwork! She was not the most unskilled when they went on a mission, she concluded, her heart pounding.

She was not a liability on the battlefield…Was she?

She thought of how quickly the others surrounded her and ran to her aid anytime an attack started. Perhaps they felt she was incompetent and needed to be protected. She raised her blue eyes at her advisors.

"Very well," she finally acquiesced. "Assemble a party. Ask Cullen…and Josephine, you, Leliana, as well…"

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Josephine stated, enormously relieved. "I believe we'll have everything ready to depart tomorrow. I will inform the Comte of our intention to keep our meeting."

"Perfect," she said perfunctorily. "In the meantime, I will retire to my quarters. And I don't want to be disturbed until we are ready to go. By no one. Understood?"

Both women had hesitated, but then nodded.

"Understood, Inquisitor."

Evelyn had turned on her heels, her cheeks stinging, her eyes flooded with tears.

 _They think of me as a figurehead. I am there merely for display. That's all._ Her expression hardened.

"I'll show them."

Escaping their headquarters in Val Royeaux had been easy. She slipped out of her quarters dressed as a scout. She had learned, from an early-on excursion with Bull to talk to soldiers in Skyhold, that if she wore a simple disguise, most of the soldiers would not recognize her. When she offered the guard at the gate a demure nod, he simply waved her past, along with the throng of dignitaries leaving the estate.

"Andraste bless you," she had uttered, the thrill of her bold escape beginning to fill her with adrenaline. As she quickly turned to the gates as she crossed the street, she realized she had made it without alerting her watchers.

 _Onwards_ , she grinned triumphantly.

 


	2. A Dangerous Game

"Bienvenue, Your Worship" the sentinel greeted her formally as she revealed herself at the palais' gates, the heavy stock visiting card with the Comte's name engraved upon it dangling between her fingers…even as she wrestled with the drupe rolling over her hip.

The palais was a traditionally ostentatious Orlesian building: marble columns, damask curtains, sculpted busts, and gold leaf abounded. A servant ushered her silently and directly to a pleasant room where a balcony sat over a private courtyard. Birds chirped overhead and in the near distance she could hear the melancholy strumming of a lute. She placed her drupe down on an entryway table and slipped off her cloak, handing it to an awaiting servant. A pleasant breeze rolled in, billowing past the heavy curtains lining the columns along the balcony openings. Further examination of the room revealed a servant in a hushed conversation with a man seated on a period piece chair, lined with elegant red needlepoint. As she approached them, the servant beat a hasty retreat, bowing to her on his way out. The Comte remained seated as she strolled right up to an empty chair.

"Welcome, my friend," he began in a calm, honeyed tone, his accent silken to her ears.

The Comte was impeccably dressed and she was surprised that he wasn't an older man, given the sumptuous luxury of the _palais_. Of course, she was only surmising as much. The Comte face was concealed behind one of those insufferable Orlesian masks.

_Gold, too, no less._

His hair had been tidily tucked beneath an odd headpiece: a split and truncated hennin of sorts. She could barely glimpse the shimmer of light reflected off his eyes beneath the half-mask.

They remained in a momentary, awkward silence. She was not quite sure how to proceed, but she was quite aware of the probing stare directed at her from behind the unnerving mask.

"Thank you for seeing me, Comte Boisvert," she stated politely.

"The honor is mine," he purred. "Please, sit," he invited her, breaking the mesmerizing spell and indicating a seat opposite him. His hands were concealed beneath fine kid gloves. On the table between them sat two heavy goblets and a yellowed scroll. "It's an honor to assist such a distinguished guest."

Evelyn took her seat and glanced over the balcony: below sat a quiet garden. Branches of mauve-hued flowers billowed lightly in the mild breeze.

"I welcome your help, Comte," she replied graciously.

The mask obscured part of what she could tell were full lips, but she could make out his elegant jawline and chin.

 _I wonder what he looks like_ , she thought fleetingly.

"The death of Lady Montilyet's servants must weigh heavily on you," he offered with unexpected sympathy.

 _Well-paced. Cool._ There was something hypnotic about his manner of speaking…Perhaps it was because he seemed a bit studied?

"Vin aux épices?" He gestured towards her goblet, filled to the brim with a deep crimson beverage—the rind of an orange slice floated at the surface, barely visible. "It has been chilled; I think you will find it most refreshing, Inquisitor."

She would have preferred water in that warmer weather, but after a few sips of the cool, sweet tasting wine, decided it would do. And do nicely, too, she smacked her lips approvingly. The Comte observed her impassively, raising his drink to his lips, the mask clinking softly against the metal of his goblet.

After a moment, he resumed.

"Have you heard of the House of Repose?"

She furrowed her brow, placing her goblet down.

"I haven't."

"Ah," he interjected with a hint of regret. "It's an assassins' league," he explained sitting forward in his chair, his hands dropping past the armrests. He shifted and turned his head towards the scroll on the table. "My contacts obtained a copy of a document in their archives." One of the gloved hands landed over the scroll. _Long, tapered fingers_ , Evelyn noted, intrigued. He pushed the scroll towards her. "A contract," he explained. "For life."

She took the scroll and unfurled it, marveling at the old fashioned writing scrawled across it. It was dated over a hundred years earlier. The Comte took another sip of his drink. She stared briefly at the way his adam's apple bobbed as he tipped his goblet back. The Comte, from what she could see, was not an imposing man. He wasn't burly or tall. He was of an average size and an average build, she gathered furtively.

She returned her attention to the scroll and her eyes widened as her eyes browsed over the words.

"The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyet's trading exile in Orlais."

When she raised her eyes, she found the Comte staring at her.

"So they're not just after her messengers! They'll try for her, too," she concluded with a wary edge to her voice once his eyes met hers again.

"Yes." Comte Boisvert toyed absent-mindedly with the end of a ribbon on his glove. "The contract was signed by a noble family: the _Du Paraquettes_ ," he revealed in a conspiratorial way. "But the Du Paraquettes have died out as a noble line about sixty years ago."

Evelyn sat forward in her chair.

"If they are dead, then there should be no problem—"

"Indeed. But the contract was signed one hundred and nine years ago," he clarified.

"But how can a family try to have my friend killed after they've died out?" she puzzled.

The golden mask glinted in the sunlight.

"The Du Paraquettes were the Montilyet's rivals, you see. They drove them out of Val Royeaux. This contract," he extended his hand in a gesture indicating the scroll, "was drawn up over a hundred years ago. But it wasn't invoked until your friend tried to overturn her family's exile. Unpleasant though it may be, the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties."

"This makes no sense!" she argued. "If the people who wanted her family are gone, why are the assassins still after her?"

"A contract is a contract," the Comte declared in a chilling tone that gave her goose bumps.

 _Dangerous. Calculating_ , came the warning realizations.

"Orlesian businesses live and die by their reputations. The entire guild's welfare would be endangered if an agreement was tossed aside on a whim of time or fate."

She could sense those veiled eyes upon her, scrutinizing her unapologetically.

"You see, Your Worship," he continued in that melodious accent, although she thought she detected a note of insolence in his tone. "The House of Repose is doing what it feels necessary. By its standards."

"Then what can we do to make this nonsense stop!" she asked impatiently.

The Comte leaned back into his chair. His gestures were graceful, fluid.

"First, don't take it so personally," he explained in a more sanguine manner.

"I'll take it however I want," she snapped.

"Second, only a Du Paraquette could annul the contract on your friend's life," he continued, placing his goblet down.

"But you just said that they had died out."

"Yes…the noble line has…"

"But there still are Du Paraquettes around?" she wondered.

"Yes," he retorted, his eyes dark behind the mask.

"So if they still have descendants under the common branch…and we…" she paused, collecting her thoughts on her mad plan, "We elevate them to nobility! A Du Paraquette could annul the contract on her life!"

"A clever plan, Inquisitor," the man said softly, with the slightest hint of admiration. "But that would take time…Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt her…and those defending her," he insinuated.

 _Very knowledgeable on the affairs of assassins, this Comte_ , Evelyn thought shrewdly. _Abreast of things… and somewhat antagonistic_. She glanced at the entrance of the room, where her sheathed sword leaned against the wall.

"Will they, now?" She furrowed her brow and confronted the Comte. "You are exceedingly well-informed. Your note to us said you'd heard rumors, at best?"

He sighed deeply.

"A bit of subterfuge," he admitted at last. "This contract on your friend's life is an ugly business. One the House of Repose deeply regrets." He nodded his head contritely.

"But…" Evelyn challenged him.

" _But_ this is Orlais," he concluded in a lower voice. "Even an assassin's word is his bond."

 _Oh great,_ she huffed inwardly.

She caught the faint smile unfurl over the full lips peeking out from beneath the mask. What if she had marched herself right into the stupid _palais_ of an assassins' league? If that ended up being the case, how would she ever live it down? She really did not wish to prove either Leliana or Josephine right that morning.

"Does 'Comte Boisvert' actually exist?" she complained.

"Absolutely," he affirmed. "The Comte's offer to reveal the killers of Lady Motilyet's messengers was genuine. So was his information." He paused. "Somehow. An end to be tied up later," he added ominously in a raspier voice that gave her chills as he averted his gaze and his jaw tensed.

 _I need to keep him talking_ , Evelyn thought, glancing surreptitiously at her sword.

"I'm guessing the actual Comte Boisvert met with a fatal 'accident'?" she asked cynically.

The fake Comte fiddled with the stem of his goblet.

"Comte Boisvert slumbers in a nearby closet. Nothing more," he censured her.

When she peered up from trying to gauge how long it would take her to dash over to her sword, she found the unsettling mask facing her.

"The contract on Lady Montilyet's life is so unusual, we felt the courtesy of an explanation was in order."

"I suppose you expect me to thank you for your thoughtfulness," Evelyn retorted, her limbs tensing as she contemplated that lunge for her sword.

"Your idea to seek out a Du Paraquette to revoke our orders is an interesting one. I wish you luck," he declared, standing up. Instinctively, Evelyn rose as well, blocking his way as she did so. He stepped back, casually tugging at his gloves. "I did not come to shed blood today, Inquisitor—only to speak. Might I pass?" he asked her in a firm but collected manner.

"Why warn us about your contract and let me go?" she provoked him. He was taller and more robust than he appeared to be when he was sitting, but she was confident she would be able to take him on if it came to that.

He inhaled deeply.

"In Orlais, it is only decent to inform those involved in a contract when extraordinary circumstances conspire." He clasped his hands behind his back. "And the guild's reputation would suffer if we ignore the contract. Do you understand?"

She continued to stare at him. Fine clothes, clean-shaven face, and a subtle woodsy fragrance—the lingering notes of a cologne.

"May we conclude with my departure?" he insisted.

She turned her head only slightly to make sure her sword was within eyesight once more.

He clucked his tongue at her.

"Ah, Inquisitor! I would not recommend that course of action," he said, feigning great disappointment. "It would be lamentable."

Undaunted, Evelyn leapt for her sword, deftly unsheathing it before the unnerving assassin. His reaction to her defiance was a florid Orlesian bow.

"As you wish."

 _What is he doing?_ she wondered nervously, slightly bending her knees as she held a defensive guard.

"Don't you dare move," she warned him, not taking her eyes off him for a moment, even as he remained eerily still.

"This is a most regrettable turn of events," he surmised in a tone filled with reproach. She gripped the hilt of sword more firmly, irked that he did nothing more than stand there looking like a statue.

 _This charade ends now!_ she decided, raising her blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half of the dialogue between the Inquisitor and the assassin is adapted from the game.   
> Sexy bastard.


	3. High Stakes

Before she could take a step forward, the assassin lithely extended his hand and tossed something small and round on the ground before them. As the object shattered, it spewed forth a thick curtain of smoke, quickly shrouding the room in a blinding grey haze.

Evelyn retreated towards the wall lined with mirrors, her eyes darting every which way, her sword held steadily at eye level.

 _Blights!_ she thought, wincing. _This is not going well now, is it?_

The smoke expanded throughout the room like a pernicious fog around her, making any perception of motion difficult. And yet, she was quite certain she could sense the assassin close by. She swung her blade in a clean arc, slicing through the air, scattering some of the mist before her.

Nothing.

She had struck no one.

 _Perhaps he took advantage of the smoke to escape_ , she concluded.

"Coward!" she cried, feeling the smooth surface of the mirror behind her as she gradually made her way towards the door. "Show yourself, if you dare!" she demanded, even though she fervently hoped that he had, in fact, run away.

As she approached the door, however, she heard a faint clicking sound. She sprung towards the knob only to find it locked and unyielding. She struggled with it in disbelief and noticed, as her fingers probed the lock, that the key had been removed from the keyhole. Had he locked her inside?

"Inquisitor," the honeyed voice called a few steps behind her. She whirled around, her back crashing into the door. "I will not have my honor impugned. I am many things: a coward is not one of them. I had every intention of departing peacefully, but now I am afraid you have offended me greatly. This wound to my reputation shall not stand," he announced.

She remained wild-eyed, trying to discern whether she could perceive through either movement or sound alone, which direction he was headed towards.

"I deeply regret it," he whispered close to her ear, emerging suddenly beside her, the mask grazing her cheek. Startled, Evelyn screamed and scurried away, closer to the balcony, where the breeze had begun to disperse the fog as if tearing through wisps of cotton.

 _This easily counts as one of my more stupid blunders_ , she decided. _I hope I survive to ponder my poor decisions._

She squinted, staring into the smoky room. It was gradually clearing. Her eyes settled over a shadowy silhouette tucked in a corner. With a raring cry, she lunged towards it, checking shoulder-first into something massive and hard…only to hear a heavy crack.

She had attacked one of the marble busts sitting on a pedestal, toppling it to the ground.

 _Oh_.

Behind her she heard light, measured clapping.

"Brava!" he mocked.

She turned around angrily, hoisting up her sword again. The silvery blades of two daggers gleamed as the assassin skillfully twirled them in each hand.

"Inquisitor," he stated, sauntering towards her at a leisurely pace, "let us fight in earnest, now."

He summoned her with a provocative little head tilt.

It was all that was needed to set her off.

In that mocking head tilt she saw the culmination of all her frustrations: Leliana's wariness, Josephine's lack of faith in her, and whatever other cautions her companions applied to her; or rather, what they thought of as their helpless, incompetent Inquisitor.

_Their pretty figurehead._

She growled and charged the man.

_I'll show you!_

To her enormous surprise and great chagrin, he swiftly intercepted her and quickly seized her by the arms before she was able to raise her sword. They grappled for a bit. As she writhed and attempted to wrest herself free, he clung to her vigorously, pressing his fingers into her flesh, squeezing so firmly, she ended up dropping her sword with a loud clatter.

She grimaced as he pushed her up against the wall.

"You lose: such a pity," he lamented.

She thrashed against the wall as he clamped her arms down by her side firmly.

"I see you are determined to make this difficult," he tutted her.

"You would too, if you had the fate of Thedas on your shoulders! I cannot—I will not –succumb to a lowly assassin's blade!"

 _If I am going to go down right now, to hell with it: I'm going to go_ _kicking and screaming to the bitter end_ , she decided brashly, her face flushed.

"Inquisitor, though you may hold my esteem lower than dirt, I am not your enemy…Nor do I intend to kill you, the one hope our world has of defeating such great evil," he explained as he peered earnestly at her face. "All I ask is that you kindly retract your insults."

She eyed him warily.

"That's it? All this theater…for an apology?"

"Call me old-fashioned or foolish, if you please, but I uphold and cherish conventions and decorum in my social exchanges… In addition to that, Inquisitor, please know that I am an admirer of yours. Meeting you today only confirms my admiration was not an unwarranted delusion," he said softly. "Your loyalty, your commitment to your friend...Your courage in the face of the unknown and of danger…Those are all very admirable, profoundly laudable traits, Inquisitor."

For a moment they simply stayed like that, facing each wordlessly.

"You are a most fascinating, interesting woman," he continued in that low voice, meant for her ears alone. The _vin aux épices_ , spiced and sweet, lingered on his warm breath. She couldn't draw her eyes away from the sensuous lips she glimpsed beneath the mask. "But alas, your misjudgment has gravely slighted me, and I feel it is my duty to teach you a lesson. Won't you please take back your insulting words?"

She tried to wrest her arm away, but he tensed his grip around her wrists. She grit her teeth in anger.

 _Misjudgment_ , she thought scornfully. _Yet one more person who probably finds me as incompetent as everyone else does. And can I blame him?_ she concluded glumly. She dropped her head for a moment… and caught a welcome sight out of the corner of her eyes.

An idea sprung to her mind and she had to suppress a sly grin.

"So an apology is all that you seek?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, Your Worship," he replied in a more conciliatory tone. "That is all."

"Very well," she sighed, feigning resignation.

The moment she had been hoping for presented itself. He relaxed his hold of her, in expectation of her imminent capitulation and she did not waste the opportunity: she shook her arms free and dashed forth, aiming to seize the object of her focus, which sat on the table by the door.

He lunged after her with a frustrated growl, yanking back her arm.

"Don't think yourself clever over this little stunt, Inquisitor!" he scolded her, trying to drag her back to him even as she seized the small table by the edge, effectively tilting it over and knocking a series of objects onto the antique woven rug beneath them. He sought to immobilize her, but was finding her uncooperative in his wrangling attempts as they both fell to the ground. "This lapse of judgment is solely on me: it is evidence of my own foolishness for believing you more naïve than I imagined!"

She extended her arms before her, her fingers painfully stretched out in an attempt to roll her intended weapon towards her. He drew a deep breath.

"Now the games end and we must address your egregious actions and words!" he reproached her, struggling to stand up with her in tow as she bucked and tossed about in his grip.

 _Just a little bit_. She pressed her lips tightly, straining until she felt the fibrous exterior of a hard shell against her hand. She rolled it towards her, cupping it between her hands and twisting violently, turning abruptly to face the assassin.

" _Nom d'un chien!"_ he muttered under his breath as she cocked her arm back. It was the last thing he managed to utter before she bashed the heavy drupe against his shoulder, effectively knocking him away from.

He hollered out in pain, his hands flying up to clutch his injured shoulder as he crashed against the wall. His teeth flashed as he grimaced behind the mask. She quickly rammed into him, pinning him against the wall firmly, plucking one of his daggers from a sheath strung from his belt. She poised the fine blade's edge against the skin of his neck.

"Now tell me who is guilty of misjudging?" she declared triumphantly, a smile spreading across her lips.

"Well done," was his terse reply.

Without a further word, she ripped the strange split hennin headpiece off his head, removing the attached golden mask in the process. Lush chestnut hair spilled out from beneath the headpiece. To her surprise, she discovered he was wearing a second mask—this one black, velvety, and flat, obscuring the upper half of his face. She could discern, though, two light blue eyes, the color of cornflowers, peering up at her.

"You Orlesians are impossible! I trust you were _born_ with this on?" she provoked. As he attempted to shift away from her, she immediately pushed the blade further against his skin. He swallowed tensely and stilled.

"Do not begrudge me for my precaution," he offered in a less composed tone, straining beneath her implacable hold. "Ironically, an assassin's fame is commensurate with his anonymity," he explained.

"I am taking you to Empress Celene and you are going to settle this contract business and stop harassing Josephine at once!" she threatened.

"Ah!" he exclaimed gloomily. "Alas, I regret such a thing does not lie within my power. I am afraid the contract will be honored, unless you proceed with your plans to elevate the Du Paraquettes."

She suspected he was telling her the truth.

 _Or is he?_ she contemplated his handsome face apprehensively.

"I see…Then… I will have to kill you," she bluffed coolly. "For threatening the Inquisition's ambassador… and attacking me."

He blinked at her slowly. To her surprise, he raised his own hands, very gingerly, slowly, so as not be seen as threatening, pulled off one of his gloves, and then the other. He slipped his left hand over hers, as it clutched the blade, and drew it even closer, against his jugular.

"Then do it, Inquisitor. Do it cleanly and do it swiftly. If my life must end, then I can think of no better way for it to end than at your hands."

His skin felt warm against hers and his long fingers were smooth and fine. She hesitated, for she was merely grandstanding and had no intention to kill the man.

"It would be comforting if in these last moments you promised me you would heed my final request," he requested.

"What would that be?" she encouraged him.

"Please make it known how I, the greatest assassin from the House of Repose was defeated in a duel by the legendary Inquisitor, a worthy foe," he continued, his hand shaking slightly even as he gripped hers in face of what he assumed would be his imminent demise.

"What did you say?" she asked him abruptly, revealing astonishment.

He stared at her, confounded.

"About me," she inquired, leaning closer to him, to make sure she heard him correctly.

"I…That you are an interesting woman?" he puzzled.

"No, no, not that! The other thing you said!" she demanded. "About how I defeated you!"

"Yes," he acquiesced, quickly composing himself. "That you are a most admirable foe."

She was beaming with pride.

_Finally! Someone recognizes it!_

There was an assortment of excuses she could blame for what transpired next: there was the intoxicating wine she'd imbibed, and the hazy chemical fog she'd inhaled, or even the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins…And of course, there were those lush lips, as well.

In a moment of recklessness, she flung the dagger aside and assailed him with a rough kiss.

To her surprise and delight, the kiss was most eagerly reciprocated.


	4. A Society of Mutual Admiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**  
> (And by chapter 4, too! A record for me!)

There was no doubt in her mind that it was an odd turn of events, but hardly an unfavorable one. He held her against him as they hungrily kissed each other. She cupped his face, his skin almost as smooth as the velvet mask he wore. When they broke away from the lusty kiss, he gazed at her with a heady expression, allowing his hands to slide down to grasp her by the hips. She was still pinning him to wall, and became aware of the hard bulge that was pushing against her as she provocatively leaned into him. He searched her face.

"Inquisitor." His voice was husky, breathy. "You certainly are full of surprises. I anticipated many possible outcomes to this meeting, although I was not as audacious to contemplate this one."

His hands spread over her bottom as he pulled her against him. She gasped and he inhaled sharply, his erection pushing between her legs enticingly. He slid his hand beneath her tunic, to cup her breasts, palming them over the cloth of her binding; she hadn't worn her armor, since she hadn't anticipated engaging in combat at a noble house. He kneaded her, watching with satisfaction how her eyes closed and her lips parted. She caught herself moaning faintly, the pleasant throbbing between her legs only growing more intense as they teased each other, their hips grinding against each other. She was lost in a hazy enjoyment when he abruptly shifted, trading places with her. It was how she found herself with her back pressed up against the wall. Her eyes shot open in a mild panic.

"What are you doing?" she protested, half angry, half disappointed that he had interrupted the enjoyable exchange between them.

"Listen to me," he demanded seriously, his face flushed. "We do not have much time. Soon the Comte's guards will complete their patrol. If I do not meet my associate outside the palais soon, as previously agreed, I am afraid he will return to verify what of my fate. I do not wish to draw further attention and perhaps involve the city guards," he whispered.

She cleared her throat, a heavy dose of moral sobriety returning. What had she been about to do?

"Yes, yes…We should probably stop now," she agreed, a twinge of embarrassment over her loss of control seizing her.

She was abruptly pushed back against the wall, though.

"Ah, but not so fast, Inquisitor," he replied slyly. "You misunderstand me. All I am saying to you is that I deeply regret not having more time to conclude this encounter appropriately. In the way a woman like you deserves," he indicated, his fingers teasing her nipple beneath her binding as he assailed her neck with languid kisses. Before she could respond, he lifted her in his arms and carried her over to an ornate console table sitting against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Her arms circled his neck tightly as she tried to ascertain what he was about to do.

With a sweep of his hand, he knocked an assortment of decorative trinkets off the table before setting her on the marble surface. Without another word, he quickly began to loosen the laces to her trousers.

"You ought to know that I am a man who finishes everything he starts," he declared quietly, slipping his hand down the front of her trousers.

She squirmed at his provocative touch, his fingers brushing over her skin. She peered at the large mirror across from them catching the image of her flushed face, her trousers partially undone, her legs parting as his hand delicately tickled the surface of her under clothes. She tensed expectantly as he moved his hand lower until he rested his fingertips over her small clothes. He sought her eyes very deliberately as he rubbed the fabric against her clit, feeling her own wetness seep through the cloth.

"Inquisitor," he murmured rakishly, "you pay me a high compliment…"

He kissed her just as he tugged her small clothes aside and began stroking her, his fingers gliding over her nub with ease, spreading her wetness in a tantalizing rhythm. She turned her head towards him and sought his lips again, her inhibitions fading as the need to ease that maddening sensation intensified. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she sucked on it greedily, finding that the more delicious the sensations he elicited while rubbing her, the more her want for him. With his other hand he raised her tunic and tugged down her binding with a rough yank. He kissed her neck and moved downwards, pausing to contemplate her exposed breasts, the nipples hard and dark pink.

His mouth was hot and his tongue soft against her hardened nipple. When she peered at the mirror again, she thought she was going to lose herself right then as she watched him tease her exposed nipples with little flicks of his tongue while his hand bobbed up and down between her legs. She parted her lips and moaned again, this time louder. He peered up at her with an impish expression in those clear eyes of his and began to rub her harder, faster.

"Touch me," he ordered her gruffly, in a demanding whisper. He pushed up against her thigh and she reached down, rubbing the front of his stylish white and brown trousers, her hand steadily tracing the contour of his hard cock. He growled, burying his face in her neck as he let her stroke him, bucking slightly into her hand, his eyes shutting with delight. She found herself raising her hips against his hand, sensing she was very close to her release.

Just then he stopped, taking her wrist and moving her hand away. She furrowed her brow in protest, but then she noticed he was tugging off his trousers until they sat past his hips. Her eyes widened and she hurried to do the same. He helped her, yanking her leathers and small clothes down until they were bunched around her ankles. She found it all rather comical until she noticed how he was staring so hungrily at her naked body. He stroked his erection a few times, the tip of his cock glistening with his own arousal.

"You are a beautiful woman," he stated admiringly as he dragged her closer to the edge of the table and positioned himself between her legs. He was leanly muscular, she noticed, taking in his strong thighs and his taut stomach just beneath his shirt. He touched the tip of his cock over her slit and both of them shuddered. He splayed his hands over the sides of the table to steady himself, while he kept teasing her. It felt too good, she thought, closing her eyes again and turning her head to the side. He grasped her chin and turned her face back to face his.

"No," he told her sharply. "I want you to look at me."

She spread her legs as far as her trousers allowed her to and he halted for a moment, looking down at the scene and growing more excited as he confirmed how debauched what was happening between them was.

"Hurry," she scolded him. "Weren't you the one telling me that we don't have enough—" But before she could complete her sentence, he plunged his cock into her completely.

She gasped again and a low grunt caught in his throat. She let out a breathy sigh of satisfaction as he began thrusting in her at an even tempo that rubbed her clit at the perfect angle. She pushed her hips against him the best she could, her desire raw and demanding, and he responded, his chest heaving and his hips pumping at a faster pace.

"Mm, you feel so unbelievably good," he whispered in a raspy voice against her cheek.

One last glance at the mirror undid her: he was half naked, bucking steadily into her, his buttocks rising and falling as he thrust. It was enough: she could stand it no further. A sweet pulsing culminated and washed over her, causing her to cry out. She threw her arms around his neck, drawing her seductive, masked stranger into an embrace as she surrendered to her pleasure. She panted, overwhelmed, aware that he was observing her every expression, mesmerized, until his thrusting slowed down and he tensed, quickly pulling out of her, his cock twitching as he reached his own blissful relief. She eagerly reached down and stroked him as the last spurts of his seed spilled over her, his eyes half closed in ecstasy, savoring the moment. He collapsed into her arms as she rested her back against the wall.

They remained that way for a few minutes, enjoying the last waves of pleasure overcoming them, until he pulled away and traced her jawline delicately with his finger.

"Inquisitor," he finally brought himself to speak, "I am afraid we must make haste. I can hear a small commotion in the courtyard. I believe the patrol will be checking in on the Comte any minute now. His expression softened when he contemplated her sitting before him in such a titillating, immodest pose. "C'est dommage," he protested, swiftly stepping back and pulling up his trousers.

She stared down at herself and wondered how she would tidy up in time, before the patrol attempted to barge through the door. As he tugged his shirt neatly over his trousers, he reached into his jacket and pulled out something he shook open before her eyes. It was a fine cotton handkerchief. He stepped closer to her and dabbed away any vestige of himself on her. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he extended his hand and helped her up. She pulled down her tunic, suddenly struck by shyness, and hurriedly yanked up her small clothes and trousers. He averted his eyes and politely occupied himself elsewhere, collecting his discarded daggers from the ground. He also reached for his hennin and mask, running his hand over his hair and securing the headpiece over his head once more.

Evelyn felt lightheaded, a rush of conflicting emotions rushing through her.

_What have I done?_ she thought sheepishly.

The assassin brushed his hands over his clothes and peered up at her once again. He approached her with a determined step, and backed her into a wall. She held her breath.

_What's this, Maker? I am so in over my head now._

He raised the gold mask and crushed her lips with a passionate kiss. She gave in to his enticing touch, ready to melt again in his arms.

When their lips parted, he lowered the mask over his face again. Without further ceremony, he placed something small and metallic in her hand.

"Here is the key to unlock the door when the guards arrive," he instructed her. "Tell them we fought and I escaped."

"You did?" she asked dazedly. He grinned winsomely.

"No doubt," he confirmed smugly.

"But…" she began to stammer. "What about Josephine? This wretched contract business?"

He rubbed his chin, mildly peeved at the thought of the contract again.

"Ah…It is a wretched business…But you must set your plan to elevate the Du Paraquettes into motion." He stroked her cheek with his gloved hand. "I assure you we will afford you ample time before any new strikes. And I will slow matters down the best I can," he promised her.

"Very well," she mumbled, watching him quickly head towards the balcony as the first knock resounded against the door.

The assassin pointed towards an armoire in the farthest corner of the room.

"The Comte is in there. He's blissfully asleep, unharmed," he revealed, crouching over the parapet of the balcony and seizing a trellis leading down into the quiet courtyard.

Another knock sounded.

"Comte Boisvert! Inquisitor? Is everything all right?"

The assassin prompted her, nodding reassuringly.

"Everything is fine now!" she called out. "Just give me a moment."

She turned to cast an exasperated look at him.

_And what's the etiquette and protocol in this situation?_ she pondered, annoyed at herself. All she knew was that the protagonist of the most intense encounter she had ever experienced was escaping and it was unlikely she would ever meet him again.

"I don't even know your name," she protested weakly.

He hesitated.

"I am Monsieur de Vaurien," he told her in hushed voice. "Know this, Inquisitor: I will be checking on your progress," he stated.

"Oh?" she asked, flustered all of a sudden.

" _À bientôt_ , j'espère," He winked mischievously before using the trellis to cross over to the neighboring roof.

"Inquisitor!" someone yelled outside the door.

She approached the door, peering a couple times over her shoulder, noting sadly that the assassin had disappeared with nary a trace.

 

 

 


	5. A Rose by Any Other Name...

Once she unlocked the door and the guards spilled into the room, they took stock of the slight haze still floating in the air and the broken bust on the ground.

"An assassin posing as the Comte was here," she announced, quickly resuming her role as Inquisitor. "But the Comte is alive—he's been imprisoned in the armoire."

Startled gasps issued from the group of guards and servants assembled in the room. She helped one of them break the lock to the armoire and pull out the drugged, but ultimately unharmed count into the room.

"Thank goodness you were able to fight off the assassin, Inquisitor!" one of the guards stated in awe. "I hear those professionals are quite dangerous and difficult to defeat."

Evelyn struggled against her growing guilt and inappropriate amusement.

"Yes. They are, indeed," she concurred, gazing towards the balcony longingly.

 _But not Monsieur de Vaurien_ , she mused.

* * *

 

Needless to say, she had caused a commotion. Palais de Boisvert eventually teemed with agents from the Orlesian crown and from the Inquisition. Josephine and Cullen stood beside her, helping her field the many questions issued by Celene's officers.

"Any distinguishing marks?"

"Not that I could tell," she lied.

"Nothing of note?" a constable asked disappointedly.

"He had an Orlesian accent," she deadpanned. The man grimaced at her unhelpfulness.

* * *

 

Later on she had been forced to recount the duel again and again to her mesmerized companions back at their compound. Even Leliana, who had evinced enormous irritation at her for her little escapade, had relented and joined in on the conversation.

"The House of Repose is to Orlais what the Crows are to Antiva," Josephine explained.

"Very different styles, though," Leliana corrected her.

"Same results, though," Varric chuckled.

"They must have sent one of their best," Josephine concluded. "And we must commend them on their restraint and courtesy."

"Remind me to check for perfumed calling cards at our next crime scene," Dorian sighed. "Honor among assassins is such a quaint cliché." He rolled his eyes.

"It definitely is not in Orlais!" Josephine protested. "Unlike assassins in most other places, in Orlais they are often well born. It is all just another facet of the Game, and those with the most diversified skills tend to be better positioned to win when engaging in it."

 _Noble born?_ She wondered. _That would explain much,_ she thought, remembering his fine manners and the elegant, well-tailored clothes.

"He was actually very polite," Evelyn concurred, struggling not to think of his impish smile as he promised her he was going to finish what he had begun, his hand down her pants. In fact, she was feeling somewhat restless as her story was scrutinized. She feared making a mistake in retelling it, inciting their curiosity into all the wrong directions.

Josephine contemplated the scroll Evelyn had brought her.

"It is unbelievable." She shook her head. "I never imagined such an ancient feud would still bear fruits."

Evelyn thought of her drupe, hurtled against her assassin's shoulder.

_A worthy foe._

She smiled.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked curiously.

She quickly collected herself.

"I am just relieved the confrontation ended without bloodshed. Now we know how to proceed and we can resolve this situation!"

"Not so quickly," Leliana cautioned. "Have you ever dealt with Orlesian bureaucracy?"

"What do you mean?" Evelyn's brow furrowed. "Can't we just ask Empress Celene to give the Du Paraquettes a noble title?"

Leliana smirked.

"Even the Empress observes certain conventions and rules."

"But she declared Briala as the Marquise of the Dales on the spot at the Winter—"

"The declaration, yes, but ratifying it…That had to go through standard channels!" Leliana explained.

 _Hmm_. No wonder de Vaurien had warned her it would take a while.

"How long?" Evelyn fretted.

"Long enough," Leliana stated curtly. "Josephine: let me handle matters now. A few of my agents can infiltrate their guild and do away with that contract. No contract: no more threat."

Evelyn was prepared to argue against it. It would be dangerous, she knew. Lives could be lost in such a mission.

_Perhaps even a certain assassin's life…_

She did not want to contemplate such a thing. Fortunately, Josephine intervened.

"Absolutely not, Leliana! Enough bloodshed. We will pursue the proper channels for this…and just take a few additional precautions."

"I will double your protection," the spymaster vowed.

"Yes," Josephine acquiesced self-consciously. "Alas, it seems I would not be able to fight off such an attacker, unlike our Inquisitor," she added. There was the hint of an apology in her tone.

Evelyn pursed her lips before smiling briefly.

But what would they say if they ever found out how her duel had really ended…

She was assailed by guilt. She could hardly believe what had transpired herself.

"Well done," Vivienne nodded. "The House of Repose is infamous for its canniness and swift and deadly strikes. Bastien always said that those whose demise had been assigned to the House of Repose should not even bother to escape their inevitable fate."

An awkward silence befell the room.

"Not in our dear Josephine's case, of course, darlings!" she offered hurriedly. "Like the man himself stated, this is a most unfortunate business that no one wishes to see concluded. We will prevail."

It wasn't until she had rehashed the story of her fierce showdown with the assassin a few times and most of the attendees around the War Table that afternoon had left, that she finally approached Leliana and Josephine.

"How well are you both acquainted with the noble houses in Orlais?" she inquired.

The two women exchanged glances.

"Quite well," they concurred. "Between the two of us, we can probably list all the more prominent and influential families in Orlais."

"What can you tell me about the de Vauriens," she asked.

Josephine appeared puzzled.

"I'm afraid I do not know this particular noble family."

An inscrutable expression flashed in Leliana's eyes; she crossed her arms, interested.

"And where did you come across such a name, Inquisitor?"

"It is something the assassin may have let slip—although I am not quite sure how they may be involved," she improvised. _I am lying to one of the finest spymasters in Thedas,_ she gulped. _Who knew I had all this latent delinquency just waiting inside me?_

To her great surprise, Leliana began to laugh.

"I fail to grasp what is so amusing!" Evelyn protested.

"Apparently so, Inquisitor! If it was offered to you as a lead, then I regret to inform you: pursue it no further."

"Why is that?" she puzzled. Josephine looked on, curious as well.

"Do you know what 'Vaurien' means in Orlesian?" Leliana asked them. "It is slang!" she revealed, starting to chuckle again.

"For what?" Josephine wondered.

"It means 'good for nothing'," Leliana revealed with amusement. Evelyn merely blinked, bracing herself, a hot flush rising to her cheeks. "Basically: a scoundrel."


End file.
